Anne Sexton

Lobster - Poem by Anne Sexton

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A shoe with legs, a stone dropped from heaven, he does his mournful work alone, he is the old prospector for golf, with secret dreams of God-heads and fish heads. Until suddenly a cradle fastens round him and his is trapped as the U.S.A. sleeps. Somewhere far off a woman lights a cigarette;somewhere far off a car goes over a bridge;somewhere far off a bank is held up. This is the world the lobster knows not of. He is the old hunting dog of the sea who in the morning will rise from it and be undrowned and they will take his perfect green body and paint it red.